


☘ What if Skull was...Sebastian Michaelis

by Hisana_Reborn



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisana_Reborn/pseuds/Hisana_Reborn
Summary: With how easily Lucifer fell, is it any wonder that other demons are capable of losing their way as well?





	☘ What if Skull was...Sebastian Michaelis

**#####** is seventeen (?) years ~~/~~ ~~millennia/eternities~~ old when he wakes up, barely a man with gangly limbs, shockingly bright hair and no memories to speak of. He doesn’t understand the feeling of disconnect as he stumbles into the nearest city, dusty and confused. He settles underneath the first awning whose owner doesn’t chase him away and watches the people that go by. Inane, selfish and self-absorbed, pops in his head as he stares down the unseeing masses.

It is unknown how long he sits there for, forgotten even by the kindly store owner as the days pass. He listens to the frivolous conversations of those around him,to the tromping of hundreds desperately crushing one another with careless regard as they reach for their own goals. A corner of his lip tugs up as he watches yet another “conversation” that he just **_knows_ ** will end in the absolute ruin of one of them and the desire for riches that drives the other man’s greed.

Finally, he gets up and bumps his way into the pair as they walk past. The greedy man’s face twists at the interruption but **#####** speaks up before he manages to get any words out.

_“You’re base, you harbor a complicated malice, you lie… You struggle desperately, knocking down others in your way… You steal and are stolen from, you make endless excuses… And still you strive to get over the hill and far away. I suppose that’s why humans are so interesting.”_

 

The words come easily and **#####** laughs to himself as chaos erupts behind him.

 

\---

 

Despite finally moving on, **#####** finds himself wandering without purpose.

 **#####** doesn't have a name to call his own, any he thinks of feels so utterly ill-fitting that it sickens him. It is only in France, after the deaths of several men from a bar fight gone terribly wrong that it hits him. Sitting there with the stench of copper filling his nostrils and his ghastly pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones reflecting in his glass of Kir Royale, **#####** **_revels_** in the energy it seems to give him. Death becomes him it seems. And what better way to celebrate this new discovery of himself than with a name? There in France, with the fetor of Death embracing him like a close friend, Skull DeMort is born.

Skull embraces his new name with fevor, chasing his namesake across the globe. Death become him, he always thinks and even though it doesn’t feel quite right for the moment, it is enough. He flings himself into underground fights, into monster truck events, into extreme sports, anything to get him closer to that kiss of death. It’s barely enough each time, after the high of adrenaline hits, he leaves with an emptiness that grows stronger and stronger. His pain, his **_hunger_ ** is nearly insatiable so he keeps looking, keeps hunting for that perfect **_something._ **

 

**_//The hungrier one is, the more satisfying one's dinner.//_ **

 

It’s not food he desires either, he’d checked in nearly every country, sampling the fares of the far reaches of the world. He finds himself either cringing in disgust or eating like a particularly skittish bird, no matter the dish set before him.

No one quite understands why and he receives more than his fair share of odd or even concerned looks as people wonder at him and the distinct contrast between stomach and the usual voracious appetite of teens his age.    


_(Yes...I am_ **_#####_ ** _. There's no way I could understand_ **_#####_ ** _, a **#####** 's sense of taste. What I understand is...only the taste of a _ **_#############################_ ** .)  


Finally, **_finally,_ ** he finds himself in extreme stunt-riding and it's absolutely **_perfect._ **

_S ~~o many of them die and Die and DIE while trying to become experts in the sport and it's absolutely glorious because Skull is finally FINALLY getting his fill~~ _

He finds himself with a bit of an odd taste in his mouth now that he’s in stunt-riding but he hardly cares for the minor inconvenience as the hunger in him is gradually assuaged.

 

\---

 

A new thing Skull has yet again discovered in himself is the need for perfection. Absolute perfection to be precise. Skull starts off as a completely green rookie but within two months, he is pulling off the worst of the worst, 'Tail Whips’ at thousands of feet in the air, ‘High Chair Wheelies’ while skidding off speeding monster trucks and more. He pushes and pushes and pushes until he is the very best of the best.

_(Something in him whispers that he could have done everything within minutes of starting the sport, but he refuses to give in to the urge because he needs this to be natural, he needs this to look like other people can catch up to him because when they idolise him, when they dog his footsteps so much to gain the same level of absolute skill he does...well...many many accidents happen.)_

They call him the Immortal Skull, the man hated by the grim reaper himself. The title rings both true and false at once but Skull allows it;  accepting that Heaven is a place that has no hold over him.Skull rides on his fame, seeking greater thrills, encouraging aspiring victims stuntmen to follow their dreams. He sits on his throne of vehicles and trophies and still finds himself looking for... **_something._ **

_(He’s getting closer, so much closer. The throne is right, he’s discovered one of the missing pieces that he needs, but its still wrong because he’s not supposed to be sitting in the throne, he’s supposed to be beside it and it isn’t the shine of trophies that should makeup that magnificent seat but piles of corpses, settled at the feet of-)_

His latest crowd, in Venice, Italy cheers wildly at his name now, and Skull tucks the thought away for later introspection. His eyes gleam unsettlingly as he steps from the shadows of the curtains into the the light.

 

\---

 

Skull is eighteen and a half when he first discovers his Fire. Accidents for him are near non-existent what with his preternatural grace and he has hardly been in any position of danger to set it off. No, it is only when he sets up a mandatory fall to keep his audience on its toes and his multitude of managers and crew staff in check with their suspicions that he notices a bit too late that someone is lining up to take a shot at him at the apex of his jump.

The silencer stops anyone in the crowd from recognizing the gunshot for what it was but still there is screaming as he crashes down like a limp puppet in a sea of wrecked metal and gasoline powered flames. Skull feels his consciousness fading away...but then something in him jerks and he belligerently snarls back.  


_“If it is your wish, I will follow you anywhere, even if your throne crumbles, and your shiny crown turns to rust. Even if the bodies pile up endlessly above the bottomless pile of corpses. Beside you as you lie down softly, I will be, until I hear the words "Check Mate"!”_  


The once limp pale body snaps up and the arena is awash in a sea of all-consuming purple flames.

 

\---

 

The incident seems like it is unsalvageable and Skull contemplates changing his face and moving on. His crew glares at him, silent and fearful as he heads off to bed that night, and the manager is conspicuously absent. He goes to bed, mind still racing with half-made plans of escape as he drifts off to sleep.  
  
The next morning, he awakens to a completely unharmed arena and everyone who had attended either unaware of the incident or convinced of some sort of mass hallucination. Several of his crew slap him on the back and congratulate him for one of his best shows yet as of last night.  
  
Skull smiles and says nothing.

 

\---

 

Skull is nineteen and five months old when a message comes for him, innocuous in a thick envelope made from vellum. It sits on his vanity, conspicuous only due to its placement, smack dab between the multitude of creams and powders he has. Skull fingers the odd piece of correspondence, and a smirk steals across his face at the flash of malice and trickery he gets from it. Something interesting then. Something mired in the filth and carnage he so desired...Skull rips open the letter and reads it, not bothering to control his face.

The sheer savagery that suffuses his face would have made even the strongest of men cower at the pure devastation the expression promised. Somewhere in the bowels of Sicily, a man in a checkered hat shudders.

Skull goes off to settle his affairs, a grin on his face and an address in the deep woods of Foresta Del Cansiglio with his name on it burning a hole in his pocket.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ☘ _Hisana_Reborn | Black Butler_
> 
> God, this took so long, and I'm still not exactly happy with how it came out, but I did say I'd do this and this is the best I can do for now :P
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